As If Surviving High School Wasn't Hard Enough
by HidingFromTheSpotlight
Summary: Pandemonium: Wild and noisy disorder or confusion; uproar. Pandemonium High School and Boarding House: A school where secrets are as commonplace as the Level One History teacher's Big Blue Box. That is to say, they are startling at first, but the surprise wears away after awhile. John, sixteen years old, knows these secrets. At least, he thinks he does. Full summary inside
1. Pandemonium High

**Sherlock: High School AU. (Sherlock x Avengers x Supernatural x Doctor Who) (I should probably put it in the crossover section but I can't be bothered. If you have friends who like this sort of thing but don't frequent the Sherlock archive, send them the link :D and yes, I am shameless in my attempt to advertise).**

**Summary: John is a normal, well adjusted (or so everyone thinks) teenage boy. He goes out with girls, he finishes most of his homework, he plays cricket and football (well, he would if his shoulder wasn't so fucked up) and the majority of his teachers like him. This is the main reason he is given the duty of looking after the new kid, Sherlock Holmes, an anti-social genius whose main interests lay in brutal murders and obscure facts, such as the differences (and he assured you there were many) between various brands of tobacco ash, or types of perfume. And for a moment, John hates the fact he's been stuck with this boy, this loser, this _machine_, because he drives away everyone, including John's real friends. But then a horrific murder occurs, a young girl, one of their classmates, is found dead, bound, gagged and raped, smothered in blood, so very much blood, too much blood. And only Sherlock can truly see how many layers there are to this crime. With John by his side, maybe, just maybe, they can solve this puzzle and stop it from happening again.**

**A/N: What am I doing? Seriously, I have three other stories I should be doing. I suppose this is me celebrating ending a story (or at least putting it to bed for a while) with another story. But seriously, you need to take my computer away from me. I keep writing stories when I should be working on one of my already published stories. Ugh, I need help. Well, anyway, I suppose I'm running on a high from the Avengers gag reel (not to mention all the high school AU's I've been reading). I decided I wanted to do a crossover, but also a high school one, which is where this came in. I hope you like it. You should really be telling me to get back to work on Just One Touch or You Fascinate Me or Doctor John.**

**Oh, and P.S. this is probably going to contain nearly every pairing (that means there will be LOTS of guys with guys) under the sun. :P**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, Supernatural, the Avengers or Doctor Who. I wish I did.**

Pandemonium College and Boarding House was not your ordinary school by any means. The strange occurrences there and the surrounding towns were well documented in local history. Any student could reel off several of the more infamous rumours which ghosted through the halls (all of which were written down in an old diary of a former student). The most popular was that involving the Level One History teacher: Doctor John Smith. Because, despite having worked at the school for over fifty years (some would even wager that he'd been there since the day it was founded over one hundred years ago), he never seemed to age. In fact, he seemed to get younger. The school, however, said it was simply a coincidence that several doctors by the name of John Smith had applied for the position in the past five decades. They'd made no attempt to explain the strange phenomenon that seemed to occur whenever the man was around, nor did they offer any reasons as to why Doctor Smith (who preferred everyone to simply refer to him as the Doctor) kept a 60s era Police Public Call Box in his office.

Of course, 'the' Doctor wasn't the only curiosity in PCBH history. There was the legend of the Winchesters, a family who had been attending the school for several generations. They were well-known to be involved in the occult and other 'weird' things; it was a Winchester who had started the infamous Paranormal and Occult Studies Club (also known as the 'Black Magic' Club) and every Winchester ever in existence had been a member. Granted, they were privately thought to be complete loons by most other students, the key word being _privately_. No one was brave enough to say it aloud, especially in recent years with the newest additions to the Winchester clan; Dean, the older brother, and Sam, the younger brother. Both were troublemakers. Well, Sam was more of an 'I'll-do-as-my-brother-does' type, but he still pulled a few pranks of his own accord every now and then.

And even more mysterious than the students and faculty was the building itself. There were constant whispers about monsters in the basement and ghosts in the attic, the hidden doors and walkways and corridors that snaked under and over and around the school in an uncoordinated and unpredictable fashion (merely guesswork, no one was ever able to find even one of these passageways). Along with secret corridors, there were rooms never shown on any map whose doors were always locked, whose windows were always shuttered. Theories abounded about the various uses of these rooms, mostly featuring vampires, zombies or genetic experiments gone wrong. One particular room, Lab 4.5, was the only one to have ever been opened to the student population, and that was because something had caught fire and they needed to air it out. Not that it was very informative. All that was left of the room's innards was the charred and twisted remains of unidentifiable lumps. There was, however, one thing in that room that set tongues wagging; a large, metal hook suspended from the unnaturally high ceiling, which, though it might just have been a trick of the light, or teenage imaginations run wild, seemed to be, well, covered in blood. Not just, you know, specked with blood, but _covered_. Some of the older (and more sadistic) students delight in informing new students about how the school punishes misbehaving students involving that hook, several venomous snakes, a pit of fire and a mix tape containing Justin Bieber and Rebecca Black on repeat. This practice was quickly banned by Principal Fury on the grounds that, "I am not payin' several mother fuckin' thousand dollars to put a bunch of snot nosed shitheads through therapy because you little fuckin' assholes decided to terrorise 'em. Next person to bring up that mother fuckin' laboratory gets a fuckin' cap in his ass!" And yes, those were his exact words to the senior class, and to every senior class since. Because of course, Pandemonium College wouldn't be complete without its tough as nails, scary as all hell Principal, though a large part of his attitude came from the fact he wore a freaking eye patch. Seriously, an _eye patch_.

But the greatest presence to ever grace those dimly lit yet somehow still overly classy halls (his words, not mine) hadn't even arrived yet. He was still being thrown out of his last school for blowing up the science lab. Again. His-soon-to-be-best-friend (not that he actually knew it), however, was currently sitting in Level Two Chemistry, being bored out of his mind.

"John Watson! Pay attention, young man. This is important stuff!" Snapped Mrs Turner.

John jerked his gaze away from the window, moulding his features into what he hoped was apologetic enough to appease his Chemistry teacher.

Mrs Turner turned back to the whiteboard, while John's friends shot him a 'haha, you got caught' look.

John let out a soft sigh, wishing he could go back to bed and bury himself in his mountain of blankets and quilts (what? It gets rather cold at night-time and his mother sent them to him especially). Instead, he picked up his pen and started scrawling in his nearly incomprehensible handwriting that was the constant ire of his friends.

A few minutes later, a scrunched up scrap of paper clattered onto his desk. Looking about surreptitiously, he couldn't spot any obvious perpetrators (though he could certainly rattle off a list of those he would consider guilty without evidence. He glanced back down at the harmless, yet at the same time sinister (who knows what could happen? Voodoo curse? Insidious lie? Paper cut?), before gathering a square of his courage and unfolding the note.

_Hey, stud. Free tonight? Nod once if yes ;)_

John frowned. This note couldn't possibly be for him. Not that the opposite sex (or indeed, a few select members of his own sex) found him unattractive, it was more to the fact that girls (or guys) who asked you out via a note chucked across a classroom weren't into John's 'vanilla' image. Some were, mostly those who got off on stirring a few handfuls of chocolate chips into the vanilla mix, but the majority weren't. John had a strict policy (well, it was somewhat strict, allowances could always be made… what? He is sixteen after all) to reject all offers that are not made in person. So, hoping the sender was watching, John shredded the message into tiny pieces before sweeping the remains into his bag.

He peeked around at his class, only to find another note on his desk. He frowned, opening it up with much less trepidation.

_What's wrong? Afraid of the unknown? Just nod once so I can rock your world ;)_

He rolled his eyes and tore up the note and when another appeared on his desk, he pointedly ignored it. By the end of the lesson, there was a small pile of scrunched up paper on his desk. The bell rang and Mrs Turner called out a hasty instruction to _read chapter twelve and finish the questions on molecular structure_ which few headed. John shouldered his bag, choosing to sweep the remainder of the unwanted notes into the bin.

Just as he was exiting the class, John felt a tug on his shirtsleeve.

"Can we please not do this now? I've only got one-"

"Was it really necessary to reject me so harshly? Honestly, John, all I wanted to know was if you wanted to watch a movie with me." A familiar voice whined.

"Tony." John said in surprise, turning to face his friend. "So it was you."

"Yes, it was me." Tony grinned. "So, you in or out? Bruce and Rory'll probably be there too."

"Um, I doubt it. I've got piles of homework to do and-"

"Homework-smomework. You can always do it later. It's only one movie." Tony said, waving away John's objections.

John sighed. "All right, I suppose I'll come. But just one movie, okay? And the next time you want to ask me something, do it in person. I don't respond to letters thrown across the class."

"You responded to Sarah." Tony responded with a devilish grin.

"Yeah, and look how that turned out." John said with a roll of his eyes.

"Whatever, John. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, bye." John waved goodbye and trudged off to biology. Well, that sorted his plans for the evening. Apologies to any ladies who arrived late. As if. Though, he couldn't help but feel a tad suspicious. Guys like Tony Stark (self-proclaimed genius/billionaire/playboys) always had an ulterior motive. Or perhaps John had just known the guy way too long. Probably both.

**d(^_^)b**

**HFTS: Points if you can name which characters come from which fandom**


	2. Tony!

******For Doctorwhofanatic19971: She licked her lips, grinning at the delectable delight in her grasp. It was still warm from the oven and its scent practically reached out and stroked her nostrils. Heavenly. That was the only word for it. If angels were to bake a cookie, using only the finest, holiest ingredients, this would be the result. This cookie. Slowly, she raised the cookie to her lips, and all of time slowed down. Right now, the only thing that mattered was this cookie. This little slice of heaven. With one quick movement, she had sunk her teeth into the baked dough, savouring the taste as it collided with her tongue. Oh yes, she thought, this was worth the wait. And HFTS smiled, knowing she could give someone something that gave them so much joy.**

******HFTS: So another chapter. I don't know why, but this one's is just coming so very easily. And don't worry, Sherlock'll be here soon. Also, the way this is gonna go might change a bit from the summary in the first chapter, but if it does, I'll be sure to tell you. Enjoy.**

******Note: This was written last night at a rather late hour. I have no beta. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.**

******Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, the Avengers, Doctor Who or Supernatural. I just have an over-active imagination.**

**Chapter Two:**

John rapped lightly on the door to Tony's room, but only as a formality. He knew the door would be open. It always was.

"Hurry up and get your ass inside, Watson." Tony called.

John grinned and pushed open the door. "Hey, Bruce, Rory." He said, nodding to each of the boys reclining on Tony's unfairly massive bed.

"Hi, John." Bruce replied, looking up from his physics book.

"Hey." Rory said absently.

"Great, now that you're all here, we can get started." Tony said, emerging from his bathroom with the flair of a magician performing his final trick. "And, gentlemen, I must admit, I have sold you all a little white lie."

John rolled his eyes. Of course.

"Now, before you make a fuss, allow me to say that I had a very good reason for lying." Tony told them, raising his hands in a placating manner. "Bruce, close my curtains, would you? What we're about to do is a complete secret and I can't risk anyone finding out."

Rory frowned as Bruce shuffled towards the windows. "This isn't going to be like the time you tried to get us to break into the Doctor's office so you could get a closer look at his box-thing?"

"No, of course not. Well, maybe. But we won't be doing anything that's against the rules."

"Really?" John said sceptically, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what exactly do you want us to do?"

Tony grinned. "We're going to find the secret path that leads from the basement to Fury's office."

His friends stared at him, thinking in unison. _You're an idiot_.

"What? It's a brilliant idea. We'll be the first to find an actual secret passageway, _and_ break into Fury's office."

"This is because he confiscated your Dum-E robot, isn't it?" Bruce guessed.

"No!" Tony snapped. "Maybe… Yes. So what if it is? Don't you get what it'll mean if we actually find the passageway and get into Fury's office?"

"He'll probably catch us, we'll get detention, lose privileges and be confined to our rooms for about a month or three, all because you're pissed off at him for taking your robot." Rory replied.

"Dum-E is not just a robot!" Tony near-shouted. "And I'm doing this for the sake of discovery like all scientists!"

"You never do anything without some sort of incentive." John smirked. "We had to bribe you with coffee just to get you to go to the library."

"Because the library is boring and I was tired. Geez. You guys are such killjoys. Does it bring the three of you pleasure to deny me my latest source of joy? To kill my dreams?"

"It's kind of our job to keep you from doing anything potentially dangerous. We take absolutely no pleasure in it." Bruce informed him, all the while exchanging grins with John and Rory.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure. You guys practically leap at the chance to crush my every dream."

"Tony, don't act like you're five years old." John said.

"At least I'm taller than a five year old." Tony retorted, quickly ducking as John sent a blow his way.

John, however, was undeterred, choosing to leap on top of Tony and drag him downwards. After a moment of scuffling, during which John put Tony in a headlock and Rory jumped into the fray for no other reason than for the fun of it, the boys sans Bruce lay on the floor, panting.

Bruce peered down at them from where he lay on Tony's bed, eyebrow raised. "Was that really worth the effort?"

"Sorry we haven't all reached enlightenment and inner peace, Buddha." John gasped, sitting up.

"I don't know about inner peace and enlightenment, but I didn't think self-control was that hard a task."

"Oh shut up." Tony replied, climbing to his feet only to collapse onto the bed on top of Bruce. "Jesus, John, did you really have to hit me that hard?"

Bruce made a noise, rolling out from under his friend. "I thought it was Rory who did that."

"No, it was me." John admitted shamelessly. "And that's what you get for calling me shorter than a five year old."

Rory sighed. "Tony, you know he's sensitive about that. Did you really have to tease him?"

"Oh so I'm the bad guy. Why do you guys always gang up on me?" Tony whined.

"Because you're an idiot."

Tony snorted. "Now you _know_ that isn't true. Right, Jarvis?" He added, addressing the ceiling.

"Yes, sir." Jarvis responded.

John rolled his eyes. "Just because you're a genius, doesn't mean you're not an idiot."

Tony pulled himself up, sending Bruce the puppy dog pout he had spent the past sixteen years of his life perfecting. "I need a hug from my best science bro."

"First of all, I'm your _only_ science bro, and second, no."

"Why not?"

"You don't deserve one."

"You guys are so mean to me." Tony complained, jumping off the bed. "No matter what I do, it's never good enough. I try my hardest and you shut me down."

"Tony, please don't go into the 'you-guys-are-just-as-bad-as-my-father-I-hate-you-all' rant. If it really means that much to you, I'll give you a damn hug." Bruce sighed.

Tony let out a shout of triumph, racing into Bruce's arms. Bruce made a face over his shoulder, patting his back awkwardly. As Tony pulled away, he beamed at the three of them. "Now, let's go to the basement!"

"Tony!" The three cried in unison, but it was too late. Tony was already sprinting out the door and out of sight. They traded looks of exasperation, knowing there was nothing they could do except follow the teenage billionaire and maybe overpower him.

"Tony, what the hell are you doing?" John said, marching towards the boy currently crouched next to a wall in Basement Level Two.

"Looking for the secret entrance." Tony replied casually, running his hand along the wall akin to the way one would sensually stroke their lover.

"Why are you rubbing the wall, then?" Rory asked.

"Because every secret passage has a trigger, duh."

"Tony, seriously, can't you give it up? You're not going to find a secret passageway by rubbing every random wall." John asked, exasperated. "Besides, we might get in trouble."

"No, we won't. Look, we're not out of bounds, and it's not even close to curfew. We're not doing anything wrong."

"Other than purposefully setting out to find a way to break into Fury's office." Bruce said.

Tony sighed. "Look, if you don't want to help me, fine. I can deal with that. But at least let me do this on my own."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you _know_ that isn't going to happen, Tony." Throwing the other two a look of resignation, John knelt down beside Tony and ran his hands blindly over the wall, mimicking the now grinning boy. "So, what am I looking for?"

"Well, the book said that this particular passageway opens when you press the stone with the sunshine captured within."

"Run that by us one more time, just slower and without sounding crazy." Rory said, kneeling down on Tony's other side.

"What book, exactly?" Bruce asked.

"SJS's diary."

"SJS? You mean that student who kept a record of every single weird thing to ever happen in this school?"

"Yeah."

"But SJS's diary never mentions the actual locations of the passageways just that you should stay away from them." John frowned.

"Well… the one that everyone _knows_ about doesn't say anything." Tony said, grinning slyly.

"What did you steal and who did you steal it from?" Rory queried quickly.

"I didn't steal it, I borrowed it." Tony quipped.

"Where, when, who, what?" Bruce reiterated.

"The Doctor's office, a week ago, the Doctor, and the missing parts of SJS's diary."

"What?" The three exclaimed.

"Yeah. Remember when the Doctor was having a talk with me about how I should put more effort into learning history and whatever? Well, partway through his little lecture, he said something about needing to find a mop and a cat and ran out. So, while he was gone, I thought I'd have a little poke around his office. I tried getting into that box thing, but it wouldn't open, so I went and had a look in his desk. And there they were, in the desk drawer, the missing pages of SJS's diary. I think one of the other Doctor's might have confiscated them and they've just stayed in the history office ever since. Neat, huh?" Tony smiled.

"How do you know they were the missing pages?" John asked.

"They were wrapped in a sheet of paper that had 'Missing pages of SJS's diary' written on it."

"Doesn't that sound a bit suspicious? And what if he notices that you've taken them?"

"He won't notice because I haven't taken them. I just photographed them and put them back. Easy peasy pumpkin pie."

"This is ludicrous." Bruce mumbled. "It's like looking for a needle in a needle-stack. We're never going to find it." And to emphasise his point, he smacked the wall with a little more force than necessary.

And, of course, that was when the wall started to shake and the stone beneath Bruce's hand shone with an ethereal light.

"Way to go Bruce! Science bros for the win!" Tony shouted gleefully, jumping up and down on the spot while the others backed away cautiously.

"Bruce, I think you broke the wall." John muttered to the bespectacled boy, who gulped and looked about apologetically.

"This isn't going to end well." Rory gulped, eyes widening as a crack in the wall started to form.

**HFTS: Points if you can tell me who SJS is.**


	3. Shove It Up Your A

******Another chapter. I don't know why, but I feel very creative with this one. I suppose it's because it's early days, but whatever. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, Doctor Who, the Avengers or Supernatural.**

**Chapter Three:**

Principal Fury paced his office- well, what was left of it anyway. If he were in any way bothered by the icy wind that blew through the nice, new hole in the wall where his window had once been, he didn't show it. The four boys in front of him, however, shivered slightly. Never in all his years had three students caused this much trouble… well, there were those Winchesters but- No! No student had ever, _ever_, destroyed the principal's office before. This would require a whole new level of punishment.

Deputy Principal Coulson raised his eyebrows at the boys and they knew they were dead meat. Coulson always seemed to be able to read Fury's mind when it came to inventive punishments. And the look he was giving them at that moment wasn't good.

At that moment, the door swung open and startled the four teenagers. The Doctor waltzed in, grinning goofily and surveyed what was once Principal Fury's office. "My, my, Nick, are you redecorating? I must say, I love what you done with the place. Are you keeping that hole there or is that just temporary? Is it supposed to be one of those skylight things? Well, more of a, er, sidelight? Though seeing as it's night, it isn't much good as a light. And now that I think of it, it's a bit of a security risk, isn't it? What if someone breaks in?" He babbled.

"Shut up." Fury growled, shooting the Doctor a heated glare.

The Doctor closed his mouth with an audible click, straightening his bow tie and smoothing back his hair.

Fury turned, facing the four boys and the Doctor. "Now, Doctor, I would like you to explain to me how exactly these four teenage boys managed to get their hands on the missing pages of Sarah Jane Smith's diary."

The Doctor frowned. "Eh?"

"Sarah Jane Smith's diary! You were meant to be keeping it safe, out of reach of the student population. And yet, these four boys somehow managed to steal it and use it to find the secret passageway into my office and then proceeded to destroy it!" Fury shouted.

"I didn't steal it!" Tony protested. "I just photographed it and-" He stopped quite suddenly as Fury glowered at him.

"Hang on! When exactly did you do this? My office is locked and I'm sure the TARDIS would have told me if _you _were in it!" The Doctor exclaimed.

"_Who_?" The four boys asked in unison.

"I think we're getting off track. Anthony, perhaps you should just tell us _how_ you got the pages, and then tell us how you ended up destroying the Principal's office." Coulson said calmly, cutting off the Doctor's flustered reply.

Tony took a deep breath and John, Rory and Bruce knew that now was the time to get comfortable and settle in for a _long_ monologue.

"It all started when the Doctor asked to see me after class a little while ago. He was talking to me about history and trying harder and potential and stuff like that when suddenly he leapt up and ran off yelling about mops and stuff and… I was curious. I- I was wondering what score I was getting for history and I thought he might have left his grading book around, so I checked the drawers of his desk and there it was. The missing part of the diary, and I thought 'why not?' So, I picked it up and, well, photographed the sheets of paper. Just so that I wouldn't have to take it with me, because that would have been noticeable. Erm, anyway, I spent some time looking over it. A lot of it was really unbelievable stuff. So I ignored that bit. Then I found the stuff about the secret passageways, and I really wanted to test it so… I kind of conned my friends into helping me out. I told them we were going to watch a movie, but, we, well, we weren't. They followed me to the Level Two Basement and we started checking the walls. We nearly gave up when, ahem," Tony glanced towards Bruce apologetically. Well, as apologetically as Tony Stark could ever get. "Bruce opened the passageway. He didn't mean to, he just happened to hit the right brick. And then it opened up and things were shaking and there was a weird light and then there was just this huge gap. I thought it was really cool and just, you know, ran inside, and the other guys followed me inside, 'cause I'm the leader, I guess."

John let out a derisive chuckle but clammed up when six sets of eyes swivelled to stare at him.

"As I was saying," Tony said, "we ran inside. It went on for a little while, but then it came to a dead end. The other's were saying we should go back and all, but I thought since we'd come all this way, we might as well try a bit harder. So, I pressed a couple spots and the wall just slid away. And… we were here. And then some stuff happened, there was a lot of noise, something happened to the window. It was all a blur really."

"Tony." Coulson drawled. "What happened?"

Tony squirmed in his seat. "I- I thought that… since I was here… I- earlier this week, Principal Fury took my Dum-E- my robot off me, and I thought I might just get it back. But, he was so excited to see me he- he accidentally activated his lasers and- well… he kind of destroyed the office." He finally admitted.

"You mean that little hunk of junk I took off of you in Study Hall?" Principal Fury asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"He's not a 'little hunk of junk'!" Tony exclaimed. "I- I mean… he's my prototype." He added in a murmur.

Fury growled, turning to Coulson. "What is your suggestion?"

"Are you actually going to take my advice?" Coulson asked, barely quirking an eyebrow.

"No."

"Then I'll keep it for another time."

"Ahem, um, Principal Fury, may I say something?" The Doctor queried.

"You've already said something. But if you have something else to say, you may kindly shove it up your ass." Fury snarled.

The Doctor's mouth fell open as he did a marvellous imitation of a goldfish. After a moment, he regained his composure and stepped back, rocking on his heels.

"Now, you four… What to do with you?"

The boys traded looks of fear and apprehension, praying silently, albeit hopelessly, that their inevitable torture/deaths would be quick.

"For starters, I think it's obvious that we're going to call your parents. It's also obvious that all four of you are going to have detention, separately, for three months. Adding to that, your curfews are being pushed forward; as of this evening, the four of you are not allowed out of your rooms after seven o'clock. You are no longer allowed to visit the village, and for one month, you will each be required to perform chores around the school. You will report to Deputy Principal Coulson each weekend at ten in the morning. Now, get out of my sight."

The boys jumped to their feet, a rush of '_Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,'_ tumbling from their lips. The four raced out, not daring to look back. When they were five corridors and a stairwell away, they collapsed onto the floor, their nerves expelling themselves in the form of manic laughter.

"We're screwed. We're so fucking screwed. My dad's going to kill me." Tony giggled.

"Was it worth it?" John choked out.

"Oh god yes."

"If I suddenly disappear, I'm probably at the bottom of a lake or something. And it'll be my parents that put me there." Rory chuckled. "And as a request, I want the words 'if you have anything else to say, you may kindly shove it up your ass,' on my tombstone."

"Why?" Bruce asked.

"Because that was the most epically badass thing I have ever heard."

"I still can't believe he said that."

"Did you see the Doctor? He looked like a goldfish." Tony laughed.

John grinned. "Yeah. I don't think anyone's ever said that to him before."

"No, not that I remember. Although there was that time with Napoleon… Anyway, boys, I must say, you were very sneaky to get Sarah's diary out of my office like that." The Doctor announced, appearing suddenly from a classroom.

The boys sat up quickly, anticipating another telling off, or worse, being hauled back to Fury's office for another round of assigning punishment.

"Don't look so scared. I'd just like a word with you about being a bit more cautious. There are _things_ in this school, _things_ that have been locked in secret passageways and secret rooms. And some of those _things_ aren't very… friendly." The Doctor looked to each of them, a look of complete seriousness adorning his face that really didn't suit his youthful features. "There are dangerous secrets held within these walls, boys. Perhaps it would be best if you left them alone."

Rory and Bruce gulped audibly, John frowned and Tony's eyes took on the sudden glint of some unreadable emotion.

The Doctor smiles, clapping his hands together and turning away. "Well, must be off. Things to do, people to see. River's in Mongolia and I believe Ghanghis Khan is holding her captive. Nice chatting with you."

The four boys traded looks of confusion as the Doctor bounded away.

"Did he say… Ghanghis Khan?" Rory whispered.

"Isn't that the Mongolian dude who killed hundreds of people?" Tony frowned.

"Yeah, but he couldn't possibly have meant _him_. I mean, he died hundreds of years ago." Bruce said, getting to his feet.

"Maybe he's a gamer or something. You know, online and stuff." John suggested. "I know Harry once got hooked on this Conan the Barbarian type game."

Tony shrugged. "Well, whatever it is, he's _way_ too into it."

Finally, Bruce let out a sigh, signalling that the sudden euphoria was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of just how serious this all was. "Three months of detention. One month of chores."

"Bye, bye, social life." Tony muttered.

John rolled his eyes. "Of course, the first thing you think of is how this effects your ability to hook up."

"Hey, my ability to hook up is unaffected by this minor upset. I just have to up my game a little bit."

"I think I'll go back to my room. Draw up a will just in case." Rory said, bidding them goodnight.

Bruce yawned. "Night, guys. I'm going to bed."

"Okay, Bruce. See ya tomorrow." Tony smiled.

John leant against the wall, letting out a groan. "God, what's my mum going to say?"

Tony sidled up next to him, resting his head on John's non-fucked up shoulder. "Sorry, John."

"It wasn't your fault, Tony. Well it was, but I'm not exactly innocent either. Anyway, I knew things like this were going to happen the moment I started being friends with you."

"You predicted that I was going to blow up the Principal's office ten years beforehand?" Tony asked sceptically.

"Yes. Fear my almighty power of precognition." John said sarcastically.

Tony chuckled, straightening up. "C'mon, I'll walk you to your room."

"Such a gentleman." John smirked, following the genius/billionaire/playboy.

"Oh yes, darling. I always make sure to walk my dates to their rooms. It gives me more of a chance to get into their bedrooms and give them the fucking of their life."

John cocked a brow at Tony. "Are you going to give _me_ the fucking of my life?"

"That depends… Do you want the fucking of your life? I mean, I wouldn't mind, how was it you put it, adding a few chocolate chips to the vanilla?" Tony replied, strutting through the hallway as if he owned it.

"Yes, but not from you."

"Why not? I've never had a complaint before."

"I know. You make a habit of telling me everything you do in the bedroom, and I mean _everything_. But I'd rather not do it with my best friend."

"Why?"

"It might be rather awkward later on."

"So you have no objections to the fact I'm a guy?"

"Not exactly. How did we get onto this topic?"

"I don't know. So you may or may not be bisexual?"

John shrugged, unlocking his door. "I don't know. I've never thought about it."

"Well, whatever then. Night, John. Sweet dreams, hopefully they're of something beautiful and awe-inspiring, in other words, me." Tony grinned as he sauntered off.

"As if. Nighty night, you lunatic." John smiled, shutting his door and turning to face his dark, quiet room.

_I really should do my homework. But I'm so tired, not to mention I'm going to have a lot of time to do it in the coming weeks._

Internally flipping a coin, John decided on sleep. Stripping off, he collapsed into his bed and burrowed under the mountain of blankets.

_I'm so dead. Mum's going to be out of her mind with anger. And dad… he'll do whatever. I suppose detention and chores are better than being expelled and having my scholarship revoked._

**HFTS: ...I REGRET NOTHING!**_  
_

**Soooooo, what did you think? I should probably add that, once again, I have no idea what I'm doing. I do know that the next chapter will definitely have Sherlock in it. Well, probably definitely. **

**Congrats to everyone who's been correctly guessing the characters/fandoms. Oh and a big thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and favouriting and following :) You people make my life worth living :D**


	4. Meeting Sherlock

**So, my lovelies I'm back! And I have a nice shiny, new chapter for you. Now I did say this might differ from the summary in the second chapter, but not by too much. Also, I should mention that Pandemonium High is a mix of American, British (largely based off of Harry Potter) and Australian school techniques/subjects, but it takes place in Britain somewhere. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, the Avengers, Doctor Who or Supernatural.**

Chapter Four:

Two weeks and four days after the incident, which spread through the school like wildfire and was soon dubbed 'the Dum-E Debacle' in certain circles, the four boys involved were called to Coulson's office during second period. Of course, no one knew exactly how the four boys had gotten into Fury's office, only that Tony's pet robot Dum-E was responsible for the gaping hole in the wall and that Tony, Bruce, Rory and John were all 'serving time' for their involvement. No one was really surprised that Tony was in trouble, seeing as he had a tendency to blow up chemistry labs and build miniature robot armies to take over the football field. They did find it rather curious that Bruce, Rory and John, the slightly more stable, dependable, quiet friends who were supposed to keep Tony grounded, were also being punished. No amount of questioning could get them to open up about what happened, and rumours arose in varying degrees of lunacy. Coulson's favourite was most definitely the one involving a secret science experiment gone wrong, though he also liked the one about the voodoo doll and a backfired spell. However, now wasn't the time to dwell on silly theories. Now was the time to be serious.

"Boys, I'm going to offer you a chance at redemption." Coulson said.

The four didn't move, though John's eyes narrowed in suspicion and Bruce's hand twitched.

"Now, what this means is your three months of detention is cut back to nil, and you will no longer be required to show up for chores. Your curfew will go back to their regular ten o'clock deadline. However, if you wish to visit the village, you will need to resubmit your signed permission forms."

"What'll we have to do in exchange?" Tony asked.

"We have a new student." Coulson replied. "Now, he isn't your ordinary, everyday student. In fact, his intelligence puts him on par with Tony and Bruce."

Tony let out a sarcastic laugh. "Somehow I highly doubt that."

Coulson frowned slightly, but chose to ignore the comment. "He's one year younger than the four of you, but he's highly advanced for his age. But he's very… socially awkward. He doesn't make friends easily and seeing as he's moving to a new school in the middle of the year, it's only going to be harder. Now, you four have been identified by a number of staff as being friendly and helpful, so we've decided it would be for the best if you were to be his guides. It won't take much. All you have to do is show him where everything is, offer to help him if he gets stuck with anything, and perhaps even invite him to one of your little get-togethers."

"You mean you want us to babysit him so he doesn't go into some emo-ish state and want to kill himself." Tony said.

Coulson's eyebrow twitched. "No. We simply want you to… make him feel welcome. As I understand it, he hasn't been very… popular at his other schools, and it has lead to a… negative development of his social skills. Therefore, it was requested that we organise a group of students who could extend the hand of friendship to him."

"How much is the family paying you?" Tony queried.

"Tony!" John snapped. In reality, he wanted to say, 'shut the fuck up, you fool, he's offering us a chance to get out of detention and all the shit _you_ got us into so shut up and let him talk', but decided that he could fit the full meaning into that one word and not get in trouble for swearing.

Tony glanced towards John reproachfully, before averting his eyes and staring at the floor.

"Anyway, his name is Sherlock Holmes and he'll be here soon. So, are you going to volunteer and help him out or will I just have to find someone else?"

"No, no, we'll do it." Rory said quickly.

"It- it sounds… fun." Bruce added lamely. "A chance to, er, make a new friend."

"Good. I'll go see if he's arrived." Coulson nodded, getting to his feet and heading off. "And Stark, stay out of my things." He added as the door swung shut.  
"Why does everyone think I'm going to go to go through their stuff?" Tony moaned.

"Because you have an uncontrollable curiosity to know everything about everyone." Bruce replied drily.

"I do not! Coincidentally, how's your relationship with that Sparrow girl going?"

Bruce scowled. "We broke up. A _month_ ago, Tony."

"How was I supposed to know? You never tell me anything! Honestly, Bruce, it's as if you don't value me enough to keep me informed of your daily life!"

"You sound like a married couple." Rory remarked.

"If we were a married couple, don't you think I'd be a little more pissed to find out he'd been seeing someone else?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised.

"It could have been a very open marriage."

"Could we move back to the matter at hand? We should at least be having a miniature party over the fact we're no longer in deep shit." John said.

"We're still going to have to babysit this Sherlock guy." Tony pointed out.

"So? You heard Coulson. He's smart. You and Bruce can connect with him using science. Perhaps make him the third 'Science Bro'." John replied.

"First off, you can just _make_ someone a Science Bro. They have to prove they are worthy of the title. Secondly, this guy's 'socially awkward'. That's code for antisocial. How do we know he even _wants_ us to be his friends?"

John rolled his eyes. "Or he could just be shy. You never know, Tony, he could end up being your BFF. The only way you'll know is if you give him a chance."

Tony let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. But seriously, when did we become the welcoming committee for this school?"

"Well, Coulson said we _were_ recommended by the staff." Rory said uncertainly.

"Pfft! More like we're the only ones who'll be desperate enough to agree!" Tony scoffed.

"Shut up, Tony. Let's just be glad they offered it to us." John snapped, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. "Otherwise we'd be spending another two months in detention." He added.

"Yeah, whatever." Tony shrugged.

John took a few deep breaths, feeling nervous despite himself. It didn't help that the door flew open dramatically, causing him to leap a couple feet in the air in surprise. Whirling around, he came face to face with a dark, curly haired, smirking youth wrapped in a dark coat twice his size and a scarf secured so tightly round his throat it was a wonder he hadn't asphyxiated.

"Did I frighten you?" The boy grinned.

"No!" John replied. "I mean, no, you didn't _scare_ me, I was just a little surprised."

The boy's smile slipped away, his features becoming a smooth mask of indifference. "I'm sure that was it."

"So, you must be Sherlock Holmes." John said awkwardly.

"I must be."

"Well, it's nice to meet you."

"Your tone says otherwise." Sherlock replied.

"Uh, I- I _am_ very pleased to meet you." John said, forcing an extra amount of cheer into his voice.

"Uh-huh." Sherlock glanced away, electing to stare around the room.

John cleared his throat, holding out a hand which the boy ignored. "Um… I'm John, by the way. John Watson. I'll be one of your… guides while you get settled in." He told the younger boy, gesturing for the other three to get up and make their own introductions.

Tony bounded forwards, all self-assured smiles and eyes of pure seduction. "Hi! The name's Anthony Stark, but you can just call me Tony. Nice to meet you, Sherly."

"Do not call me Sherly." Sherlock retorted crossly, zeroing in on Tony and fixing him with a withering glare.

"Whatever you say, Locky." Tony laughed.

"Don't call me Locky either!"

"Tony." Bruce said reproachfully. "Maybe you should just use his proper name. I doubt he's going to like any of the names you come up with." He turned to Sherlock, offering his usual small, crooked smile. "Hello, Sherlock. My name's Bruce Banner."

"Hello." Sherlock replied dismissively, still glaring at Tony.

"And, I'm Rory Williams. The four of us are going to be showing you around, so, if you get stuck or anything, you can just ask one of us for help."

"I highly doubt I'll need your help. Mycroft probably set all this up to keep an eye on me."

"Uh, excuse me?" Rory asked with a nervous laugh, glancing to the others uncertainly.

"Who's Mycroft?" John queried.

"He's my older brother. He was rather annoyed at me for blowing up Eton's science lab." Sherlock explained. "I don't know why. It's not like the equipment was all that special."

"You blew up a science lab? Is that why you were sent here? Hell, I do that every other week." Tony told him brightly.

"That was one part of it." Sherlock answered cryptically.

"Ah, your all introduced? Good. Why don't you boys go… get to know each other a little more in the… library? I'll get you some passes, but I don't want you skipping the entire day. Tony, that means you." Coulson announced to the room in general, bustling through the doorway. He pulled out a small stack of hall passes, scrawled his signature and handed them out. "Now get lost."

"It was nice talking to you too." Tony replied sarcastically, leading the others out of the room.

Tony collapsed on Rory's bed in an undignified head, eliciting an annoyed grunt from Rory, who attempted to shove him off but to no avail. Giving up, Rory flopped onto the carpet, letting out a sigh. Bruce followed suit, albeit more gracefully, cuddling his bag close to his chest. John perched on the edge of Rory's bed, shrugging off his bag and ignoring the splinter of pain that accompanied the motion.

"You seem to like Roman culture." Sherlock observed, glancing around the room.

"Uh, yeah. It's… cool. And it's interesting." Rory replied cautiously.

"Don't get him started on the architecture." Bruce murmured.

Tony chuckled. "That's our Rory. The Doctor sort of favours him for that; calls him 'Rory the Roman' and stuff like that."

Sherlock raised one finely shaped brow. "Sort of favours him?"

"Well, he likes the fact he's interested in history and everything but… I don't know. They just have very different views. Not compatible, you know."

"You make us sound like a cat and a dog. We do get along sometimes." Rory said.

"Yeah, once in a blue moon."

"So, Sherlock, um, what subjects are you taking this?" John asked, while the other two began to bicker incessantly.

"AP Chemistry, AP Physics, AP Biology, English, AP Mathematics, and…"

"And?" Bruce prompted.

"And… a study block."

"I didn't think they let anyone in our year have a study block." John frowned.

"They made an exception." Sherlock retorted.

"Oh… okay. Um, do you have any hobbies?"

Tony let out a derisive snort. "_Do you have any hobbies_? What are you, twelve? We're not in one of those stupid icebreaker games they make us do every year."

"Shut up, Tony!" John yelled.

"You shut up, midget!"

"We're the same height!"

"I'm still taller!" Tony declared, jumping up and off the bed. With a mighty shout, he ripped open the door and ran for his life, John hot on his heels.

Bruce let out a sigh, shaking his head. "I suppose now would be a good time to do my homework. It should be at least fifteen minutes before those two get back here."

"You do whatever makes you happy. I think I'll just lay here and try to guess the meaning of life." Rory replied, closing his eyes.

Bruce rolled his eyes, turning to grin at Sherlock. "That's Rory's code for sleeping, by the way."

"Uh-huh." Sherlock murmured, running his fingers along the spines of Rory's haphazardly stacked books. "Tell me, have there been any interesting murders lately?"

"Well, I know that Mr Patterson recently killed his wife."

"Boring. I said _interesting_ murders."

"Oh, well, there have been lots of disappearances from around the town, and people have a tendency to die in some pretty strange accidents, but those all happened decades ago."

Sherlock's eyes shone with barely contained glee. "Really? What ones do you know of?"

"I know a few of the stories written in SJS's diary." Bruce answered, flicking through his book.

"Who's SJS?"

"A student who was around ten or so years ago. Whoever they were, they were really, er, curious about school legends, so they wrote down all the ones that were floating around the campus, and then started investigating them. Apparently SJS discovered all of these horrifying truths about the school, so they made him disappear. But he left his diary with one of his friends, who copied it all out into a second book. Though they say that the friend hid them in his room and the next time he pulled them out, they were missing several pages." Rory replied, reeling off the explanation in a tired, I've-said-this-a-million-times-and-I'm-really-tired-of-saying-it tone. "No one ever managed to find them. That is, no one but Tony."

"He found them?" Sherlock said sceptically.

"Yeah. Then he dragged us off to go look for secret tunnels and we got into huge trouble because his stupid robot couldn't control itself."

"Like creator, like creation." Bruce smiled.

"So, where would one find SJS's diary?" Sherlock inquired.

"Um, I think I have a copy of it in my room somewhere. We can go get it when Tony and John get back."

"Okay." Sherlock mumbled, clamping down on his disappointment.

As a scream that Rory and Bruce would later identify as Tony ripped through the halls of Pandemonium High, a dark cloud drifted through the sky above, and a dark-hearted man trudged his way through the grounds, preparing for an evil deed. Like a fox after a lamb, he slipped into the forest at the back of the school and disappeared amongst the shadows.


	5. A Deduction Before Dinner

**I should probably point out that a) I have no clue about British or American schools, apart from tiny tidbits I learned from books, so this is going to be an awkward mesh of British, American, and Australian. b) This follows the Australian school timeline of starting in February and ending around December. **

**If you have a question, ask me and I'll try to answer it in a semi-quick fashion. Oh, and sorry to all of you who are pining for a glimpse of the Supernatural boys. They will be here, just not yet.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, Doctor Who, the Avengers, or Supernatural.**

**Chapter Five:**

Sherlock set aside the book, making a mental note to get it back to Bruce sometime in the near future. In truth it had offered only a minor distraction, most of it being wild, fanciful tales that held no real value. Some of them, however, were intriguing. Such as 'Stone Cold Steve', a boy from nearly seventy years before who ventured out during a horrible snowstorm and never returned, suspected to have frozen to death. There was also the tale of the Hound of Baskerville Forest, a fearsome beast which stalked the nearby woods, devouring wayward students and lost travellers. It was even thought to have killed Professor Knight nearly twenty years ago. But those interesting stories were few, lost between tales of gruesome monsters and horrific demons and pathways that never appeared. In short, it was full of boring, childish stories that were of no significance.

Sherlock slumped back in his seat, sighing. Perhaps he could look up the unsolved crimes in this area, or start building profile's of his classmates, find out who he could trust for information. He made no attempt to look up when someone opened his door, hoping they'd think him asleep. But no such luck.

"Hey, uh, Sherlock, it's me, John. Um, it's seven o'clock… you know, dinnertime, so I thought I'd walk you down to the cafeteria. Y'know, make sure you don't get lost." John said, hovering nervously in the doorway.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not a simpleton. I can read a map."

"I know you're not a simpleton."

"Then why are you still here?"

"It's my job to show you around. I wouldn't be a very good guide if I made you find everything on your own."

"You'd be preferred." Sherlock muttered, sinking deeper into his chair.

"What?"

"Go away. I'm not hungry; it'll slow me down."

"Slow you down? What?" John asked, exasperated. "Look, even if you aren't hungry, you have to come down. Breakfast and dinner are compulsory."

"So tell them I'm in my room."

"No, it doesn't work that way. You have to come down. If you don't… you'll get in trouble, and so will me and Tony and Rory and Bruce."

"Speaking of Bruce, did you know he tried to kill himself? By the looks of it, I'd say a gun or a large knife. Haven't you ever wondered where he got that scar along his neck? Or did he say it happened when he was younger, an accident? I suppose his hands were shaking, maybe he had second thoughts, though the self-loathing in his eyes and the faint scars on his wrists suggests it was more a case of couldn't than wouldn't." Sherlock reeled off, voice just loud enough to carry, though he still didn't deem it important enough to look up. "How does he pay to attend this school? His clothes suggest he's from a poor family. His room, however, suggests no family at all. It lacks any personal touch, as though he expects to be removed from it at a moment's notice. Is he here on some sort of scholarship? Financial aid or something like that? I suppose that would be how the two of you met and 'bonded'."

"Who the fuck told you about Bruce?" John hissed.

"So you did know. Did he confide in you? Do the others know? Somehow I doubt he'd confide in Tony, too volatile. The alcohol hidden in his room probably reminds Banner of his father, scares him, as would the constant change in temperament. Rory _is_ a good listener but I doubt he'd really understand, coming from an average, middle-class family. He's never had to deal with an abusive father, or losing his mother, so Banner probably doesn't identify with him well. But then there's you, John, with your psychosomatic limp and your injured shoulder, you… Ah, that's it, isn't it? The two of you met in some sort of rehabilitation centre. Or perhaps you took physio together? But your wounds were traumatic, emotionally damaging, hence the psychosomatic limp. So group therapy is more likely." Sherlock turned, finally looking at John, grinning as his deduction came together. The grin, however, was short lived, as he was soon grabbed by the collar and dragged to his feet by a seething John.

"Don't you dare breathe one word of this, understand? You can't tell anyone about Bruce, about his past or anything. Say what you like about me, but I don't want the dickheads in this school using his insecurities against him. He has enough trouble without anyone else adding to it, so- so just keep quiet about this, okay? And tell your source to zip their lip too." John whispered, loosening his grip on Sherlock's shirt.

"I don't have a source." Sherlock replied smugly, not in the least bothered by the hand at his throat.

"What?" John frowned. "Then how did you…?"

"I observed. I gathered clues using only my most basic tools; my eyes and my ears."

"You found all of that out… just by looking?"

"Of course. Nearly everything you need to know about someone is completely obvious, if you look properly. I mean, your jumpers tell me that you had a caring, loving mother who would knit for you; the design alone is incredibly unique and intricate, but made from cheap wool. It probably irritates you, annoys you, and it's old, two and a half years at a guess. Yet you still wear it. So, it has sentimental value. The way it's knitted and embroidered would be incredibly difficult for anyone with large hands, which would mean the creator is female. _What makes me say it's from your mother_? Again, the design would be difficult for anyone with issues with their hands. A grandmother would probably have arthritis or something similar. _Then why not say it was from an Aunt_? If it had been given to you by an Aunt, it would be buried at the bottom of your dresser drawer, far from sight. Because no matter how delicate the design, it is still a horrid colour and pattern for a boy to wear. So, this person was close to you. It could have been your brother, but an alcoholic would be unable to create such a thing, even if they were sober. _What do you mean 'had' a caring, loving mother_? Again, sentiment. Were she not dead, you'd only wear that jumper when she was around. Did I get anything wrong?"

John blinked in surprise, dropping his hands. "That… that was… fantastic."

"Fantastic?" Sherlock frowned.

"Well, yeah. I mean, there's no way you could've just asked around about me. I haven't told anyone who made my jumpers… or what happened to my mum. That was just… amazing." John took a step back, suddenly feeling awkward. "Sorry for grabbing you like that. It's just… Bruce has a lot on his plate. He and I are close. I want to protect him, and I just… I'm really sorry."

Sherlock eyed John for a moment, searching for a hint of insincerity. But there was none. Instead, he straightened his tie and collar. "It's fine."

John smiled warmly, relieved. Glancing down at his watch, he swore. "Fuck. We're going to be late. Shit, Coulson'll bust our asses the minute we get there."

"All the better reason not to go." Sherlock said airily, trying to wave John away. John, however, grabbed his outstretched hand and dragged him, unyielding, out the door and along the hallway. After a minute, Sherlock gave up trying to break his grip and chose instead to pout.

John rolled his eyes. "Look, the only thing worse than being late, is not showing up. We might as well take whatever Coulson gives us now 'cause it'll pale in comparison to whatever he'd give us later on. The guy's like… I don't know, a wolf crossed with a hawk crossed with a ninja wrapped up in the skin of a mild-mannered dork. He'd skin us."

Sherlock merely huffed.

"Ooh, John, you naughty boy. Have you been off canoodling with the new boy instead of making your way to dinner?" Tony giggled, skipping alongside them.

"We were not canoodling." John replied, rolling his eyes once more.

"Then why are you holding hands?" Tony teased, nearly tripping over an inconvenient pot plant.

"He wouldn't come to dinner willingly, so I'm dragging him. Besides, if I let go, he might run off."

"Admit it, John, the evidence is all there. The area around his collar's all crumpled, you're still rather red in the face and breathless. There's no way you were-"

John shot him a look. It was one the "shut-up-Tony-before-I-hit-you-with-a-chair-made-of-Nokias-dipped-in-poison-and-covered-in-spikes-and-venomous-snakes-and-crocs" look, which he only used when Tony was _really_ pissing him off. Of course, if you didn't know him, you might find it indistinguishable from his "shut-up-Tony-or-I-will-lock-you-in-your-room-with-Justin-Bieber-playing-fullblast-and-the-Twilight-saga-digital-copy-being-shown-on-every-electronic-device-you-own" or possibly even his "shut-up-Tony-before-I-throw-you-out-the-window-onto-a-field-of-Legos-with-beartraps-and-fire-which-will-also-be-made-from-Legos". Though how you could possibly mistake them is a mystery.

Tony, however, knew John very well, and even in an intoxicated state, knew better than to push him. Thankfully, silence fell, and the trio were able to slip into the dining hall just in time. Sliding into the seats Bruce and Rory had saved them, they all looked expectantly towards the front, where Deputy Coulson would reel off the daily notices while the teachers did a head count.

Coulson looked over his notes once more before clearing his throat. "May I remind all students that distribution of the infamous 'Journal of SJS' will result in detention and confiscation of the book. I am also sorry to inform you all that there will be no Halloween Ball, unless alternative entertainment can be arranged. And we DJ's with any form of curse word in their moniker will not be allowed." He paused for a moment, looking very seriously at 'musos' table. "I would like to offer congratulations to our debate team, who have made it through to the State Finals. And I would like to inform you all, again, that chairs in the cafeteria and in the courtyards are not to be rearranged to suit your p-"

The tail of Coulson's speech was cut off by the sudden screaming of an alarm, and every student glanced up in surprise. Without a moment of hesitation, Coulson strolled off the stage, giving hidden signals to the other teachers. In seconds he had disappeared out the door and it had been smartly bolted shut behind him.

"Alright, students, I want you to remain calm and go about your usual business. I want an orderly line for food and any fighting will result in an immediate detention. You will not be leaving this room until either Deputy Coulson or Principal Fury has given the all-clear. Until that time, I want you to act with dignity and maturity and we shall find a way of keeping you entertained. Do I make myself understood?" Barked Miss Hill, the Head of Physical Education.

"Yes, Miss Hill." The students chorused back.

"Good. Alright, ladies first, then the boys. Ladies, please make your way to the serving line in a civilised manner." Miss Hill said.

"That's fine, Miss Hill. It's not like I'm starving to death or anything." Tony muttered, leaning against John's shoulder.

"Tony, you're not going to die from starvation in the span of five minutes." John replied.

"But I'm hungry." Tony whined.

"Then you should stop skipping meals." Rory said.

"Fuck off, Rory, you're not my mother."

"If that's the way you talk to her then I'm glad I'm not." Rory retorted.

"Ooh, Rory, you cut me so deeply. That hurt, really. I'm crying inside." Tony said sarcastically.

"I wonder what's happened." Bruce said thoughtfully.

"Hopefully it's a murder." Sherlock said, resting his head on his hands. John traded wary looks with Bruce and Rory.

"Er… anyone in particular?" John asked cautiously.

"No. I just want it to be interesting."


	6. An Announcement

******So thought I'd put this up while I can and I thought it would be important to note I won't be writing for at least a week due to exams. In fact, I should be studying right now, but I really can't be bothered. Anyway, here you go, new, shiny chapter. (ANOTHER IMPORTANT NOTE: I do not have a beta and though I try to correct it as much as possible, I sometimes miss mistakes like spelling and etc, so if you find one, please tell me. Trust me, I'm not annoyed by it. In fact, I'd be grateful.) Also, Supernatural should be showing up within the next few chapters (hopefully). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Sherlock, Supernatural or Doctor Who. They all belong to their respective creators.**

**Chapter Six:**

John traded worried looks with Bruce and Rory before turning back towards the front of the cafeteria, where Principal Fury stood, looking as though someone had died. The students were silent, eager to know what had happened, still burning with questions from last night. There was no explanation for the alarms, or for Coulson's rushing off, _or_ for their being locked in the cafeteria for two hours. But now it looked like there would be, if Fury's expression was anything to go by. The only ones who weren't interested, unsurprisingly, were Sherlock and Tony.

"I'm sure you're all aware," Fury announced in his no-nonsense, 'serious-shit-is-going-down' tone, peering at the students with his good eye, "that something serious has occurred on the grounds of this school late last night." He paused a moment, letting that sink in. "I'm sorry to inform you that one of our students, Miss Sally Donovan, is dead."

A few wanton wails and cries of disbelief and horror echoed through the crowd. One girl burst into tears and was quickly led away by Mrs Hudson, the school nurse. Anderson sat stock still, either unaffected by his "secret" girlfriend's death or too shocked to even react.

"Donovan? Pity, she was great on her knees." Tony muttered.

"Tony! That isn't appropriate right now!" John hissed under his breath. "The poor girl _died_."

"Everyone dies someday. I wonder what happened, though. Did she fall down some stairs or something?"

"The local authorities have been contacted and are investigating her death. And I will tell you now that Miss Donovan did not die of natural causes. She was murdered." Fury went on, ignoring the fevered murmurings of the students.

"I swear the guy's a fucking mind reader." Tony said, staring at Fury in amusement.

"Though I highly doubt any student within our school would be capable of such an act, I must allow the Detectives to conduct their investigation as required. This includes allowing them to question you, and search your rooms if there be considerable evidence that would support such an action. I would also demand that anyone who knows _anything_ about Miss Donovan's last hours to come forward immediately so that we may get to the bottom of this tragedy as quickly as possible. Anyone who does not cooperate will receive disciplinary action, or possibly suspension. If you have any enquiries, please contact myself, Deputy Principal Coulson or another member of staff. You are all dismissed and all classes are cancelled for today. I suggest you all remain in your rooms, or a well-supervised area. And I must remind you all not to panic."

The school was still for barely a breath, and then everyone had jumped to their feet, a sudden crescendo of chatter echoing through the cafeteria. The crowd streamed out into the hallway, until only a few remained. John stood slowly, stretching his shoulder and leg very gently, at the same time trying to drag Tony to his feet. Bruce wasn't helping, he seemed to have zoned out. Rory was standing awkwardly, his attention monopolised by a redheaded girl across the hall who was having an extremely heated discussion with the Doctor. John glanced around, realising that Sherlock was making his way to Fury and Coulson.

"Sherlock! No, don't go-" John hissed.

Too late. John watched hopelessly as Fury turned to frown at the fifteen-year-old standing before him. "What is it?"

"How did she die?" Sherlock asked, looking almost uninterested. Almost.

"She was murdered."

"Yes, but _how_? Was she strangled, hanged, stabbed, decapitated, shot, beaten, bludgeoned, drowned, poisoned, did they slash her throat, did she bleed out, did they push her off a cliff, out of a tree or did she have her chest cavity eviscerated? Was she found whole or cut to pieces? How was the body positioned? Were there any marks around the body? Any unusual footprints? Did she leave some sort of note? Was there any evidence of rape? Did they find any prints? _Have they already moved the body_?" Sherlock said, without pausing to take a breath.

Coulson raised his eyebrow at the stream of questions. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but we can't divulge such information."

"But you _do_ know?"

"Even if we did, we'd be unable to reveal it to any members of the public, seeing as it is an ongoing investigation." Coulson told him with a tight smile. "However, if you know anything that could prove helpful in finding the killer or killers, you're cooperation would be appreciated."

Sherlock frowned. "So you aren't going to tell me anything."

"No. Now run along before I find a reason to give you detention." Fury replied smoothly.

Sherlock glared. "What? You're going to give me detention for breathing? Is that a crime now?"

"It will be if you don't get going."

"Sherlock, come on." John grunted under his breath, trying to drag Sherlock away. The youth stood firm for just a moment longer before smirking and allowing John to haul him away.

Fury narrowed his eyes at the two, briefly glancing to Banner and Stark. "Get Banner in my office. I'd like to have a word with him." He muttered to Coulson.

"You think he had something to do with it, sir?"

"Considering his history, I think it would be wise to have a word with him."

"Yes, sir. I'll have him at your office at ten." Coulson said, hurrying after Bruce.

Fury waited until the hall was clear and then turned on his heel, marching down several hallways and out into the grounds, towards the crime scene which was still being processed by the police. A younger officer came rushing forward, probably thinking him a gawker and attempted to turn him away. Fury stared at him with his one good eye before barking out, "I am the Principal of this school and I wish to know if any headway has been made since the body was discovered."

The officer met his gaze evenly. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't give out that information to the public."

"I'm not the public." Fury replied, pulling out his badge for the officer to see. "I am a member of an elite task force with clearance higher than the Queen, _and_ the Principal of this school."

"I will have to clear it with my superior first, sir. Please wait here."

After a moment, Fury was allowed through, while the superior apologised profusely. "I am sorry, Agent Fury, officer Lestrade is new and-"

"It's fine, Officer Kipp. So long as he was doing his job." Fury said. "Now, tell me, is there anything new?"

"No, no, not so far. We've only just gotten the body back to the morgue and the evidence still has to be processed."

"So you're telling there is absolutely _nothing_ notable about this death?"

"Er…"

"There was a knife found with the body." Lestrade said. "According to the Coroner, it may have been used to cut out her heart."

"It _may_ have been?"

"Yes, they can't be one hundred percent sure until they run some tests, but it seems likely. They also said it seems to be made of silver and is a very unusual design."

"Silver." Fury repeated. "Good work, Officer Lestrade. Thank you for your cooperation." And without further ado, he left the two officers and headed back to the school.


	7. Please Stop Pissing Everyone Off

_Just saying that in a couple days I'll be moving this to The Sherlock x Avengers Archive (Because those two seem to be the main ones). Also, the Supernatural boys will be showing up soon enough (taking forever isn't it?). Enjoy!_

******Disclaimer: I DO NOT FUCKING OWN SHERLOCK, THE AVENGERS, DOCTOR WHO OR SUPERNATURAL. IF I DID I WOULD NOT BE WHERE I AM. I WOULD SITTING ON A THRONE MADE OF CHOCOLATE AND DRINKING FROM AN ICE COFFEE FOUNTAIN.**

**Chapter Seven:**

Bruce shivered as Fury stared at him, unable to guess what the man was thinking. Fury allowed the minutes to tick by, barely blinking. After nearly half an hour of tense silence, he finally spoke, "How have you been, Bruce?"

Bruce's mouth dropped open, startled by the sudden question. "I- I'm okay. Er-"

"Not having any problems in class, or with other students?"

"No, no! I- I haven't had problems with anyone!" Bruce replied, shaking his head.

"Good. That's very good to hear. I hear your schoolwork's going well too. What about outside of school? Have you joined any clubs?"

"I was going to join the Physics Club…"

"But?" Fury prompted.

"But they wouldn't let me."

"Why not?"

"Because I pointed out that one of their experiments was monumentally flawed and that the theory they were testing wouldn't hold up in an actual scientific study. They… disagreed. So I wasn't allowed to join." Bruce said quietly.

"Did that upset you? Make you angry?" Fury asked.

"Sort of. I was mostly disappointed. If they couldn't stand my logical criticism, then they wouldn't make it in a true academic pursuit." Bruce replied steadily.

"You haven't tried to join any other clubs?"

"No… I don't think I'm really a club sort of person. I'd rather stay in the library and read."

"What about your friends? How are you getting along with them?"

"Fine. Just fine."

"And the new boy?"

"He's… different. He's definitely intelligent and talented."

"Do you get along?"

"Well, we haven't spoken all that much. And… when we do, he's very… reserved." Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Why are you asking me all of this?"

Fury shrugged. "Can't a Principal take an interest in the wellbeing of his students without there being an ulterior motive? I'm just checking up on you, Bruce. Making sure you, as one of our more… vulnerable students, are happy and feel safe _is_ one of my top priorities."

"You think I killed Sally." Bruce whispered.

Fury didn't reply.

"Why would I kill Sally? I barely knew her!" Bruce shouted.

"Calm down, Banner." Fury said immediately, face impassive.

"I'm not a monster! I'm not going to go around killing people right and left! I can control myself!"

"I said calm down!"

Bruce sat down again, barely remembering getting to his feet. He took a deep breath, focusing on the meditation techniques taught to him by Jalana and Boz. When he opened his eyes, Fury had moved to sit behind his desk. "I'm not a monster." He repeated again.

"Maybe not… But you are human, mostly, and humans can be stupid when it comes to emotions and petty arguments." Fury replied.

"I only ever spoke to Sally once, and that was to ask her where Tony had hid my book. Please, you have to believe me. I would never hurt her, or anyone. Not on purpose. Please, please, believe me, Principal Fury." Bruce begged.

Fury sighed. "All right, Banner. So far there's nothing substantial to connect you to this crime, and you seem to be telling me the truth. But remember, withholding information about this will lead to a serious reconsideration of your place here at Pandemonium College, and I'm sure you know what that would mean."

Bruce gulped, nodding quickly. "Y- Yes, sir."

"Off you go, then. And stay out of trouble." Fury watched as the boy fled, thinking deeply about the whole fiasco. He'd need to contact a few of his friends in high places, make sure only the best were put onto this case. And perhaps he'd put in a good word for that Lestrade guy. He seemed to have the makings of a good police officer. Yes, he might even be useful in the long run.

"Hey, Brucie, baby, where've you been?" Tony drawled, looking up from where he was laying across the floor of his room.

"Uh, I've been at the, uh, Principal's office." Bruce answered, taking a seat on the bed next to Rory.

John frowned. "Why were you in the Principal's office?"

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest. He murmured something unintelligible, staring at the ground.

"What did you say?" Tony asked, sitting up.

"He said 'they think I killed Sally'." Rory replied, staring at Bruce with a startled expression. "Why would they think _you_ killed her?"

"Probably due to his anger management issues. Though there is some valuable data missing, so my first answer is mostly conjecture." Sherlock said, leaning forward from where he had squeezed himself between Tony's bookshelf and desk.

Bruce stared at Sherlock in shock, before turning to John. "You- you told h-"

"No. I swear on- on my mother's grave I haven't said anything to him! He just guesses these things and gets it bang on." John replied, shaking his head at a dizzying speed. "He did it before! Guessed about my mother and my sweaters."

"I do not guess!" Sherlock said hotly. "I told you, John, I observe what's happening around me and use the information to form a greater picture."

"Putting that aside, how the hell does the living incarnate of Buddha have anger management issues and how the fuck did you know before we did?" Tony asked, sending a heated glare towards John and Bruce.

"Obviously it has something to do with his personal life. And I simply observed him. His minor movements such as clenching of the jaw and hands, tendency to retreat into a meditative state when stressed and the snap band he wears about his wrist. Most people with anger issues wear them and, when they're annoyed or stressed, snap them against their wrist to take their mind off of whatever is angering them. I'm not sure how effective it is though." Sherlock answered. "Though I honestly don't know how they could think you had killed her. They just have to look at your shoes." He added.

"What? My shoes?" Bruce said, looking down with a puzzled look upon his face.

"Yes. You take good care of them; they're probably your only pair. But even you couldn't dig mud out of the treads without leaving markings. After all, it did rain quite a bit during the night, though I believe it had ceased before the victim was murdered."

"So… you can look at someone and know their entire life story?" Tony asked, serious disbelief colouring his tone.

"Yes, if the data is there."

Tony stood out, arms aloft. "Try me."

John sighed softly. "Tony, don't."

Tony waved him away, doing a small turn. "Go ahead. Observe me at your will."

Sherlock smirked and got to his feet. "Fine. But remember, you asked for it." He walked once around Tony before stopping, a smug smile plastering his face. "You're an only child with a limited relationship between you and your mother, and an almost non-existent one with your father. You already have a drinking problem, which you hide from most people and that your friends do not call attention to. Twice your drinking problem has nearly cost you and even your dear friend John's life, though it wasn't entirely your fault. But it still left him with a debilitating injury which he will carry with him for the rest of his life. And you can't help but blame yourself for it. So you drink more and wipe it away. Then, of course, there is Jarvis. Few people know he was once a real person, a butler of some sort who cared for you when you were young, who then passed away from a disease or possibly just old age. So you built an Artificially Intelligent device to care for you as a replacement, and named him accordingly. You're parents are extremely wealthy, which is the only way you could ever remain at this school for this length of time. In short, every time you screw up, they throw a little money the school's way and everything is forgiven. You are talented and extremely intelligent, evidenced by your ability to build an AI, but your father either doesn't know, doesn't care, or both. This causes you to feel a sense of unimportance, so you do whatever you can to gain attention from the surrounding students and staff. You use your natural charm to get what you want and you usually succeed. The only people who hang around you without an ulterior motive are your closest friends, and even then you won't let them too close. Because that has dangerous consequences, doesn't it? You know how it feels to be betrayed by someone extremely close to you." Sherlock ended his monologue, his smile turning cold and tight. "Did I get anything wrong?"

Tony's usual grin had been wiped away the minute Sherlock had mentioned his parents, and his expression had grown darker by the second. Now, conscious of the others staring at him, he straightened up and smiled in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, I'll give you one thing, Sherly, you certainly can deliver. Well done."

"Tony." John murmured.

"No, no really, well done. I hadn't thought anyone could do it, but obviously I was wrong. As usual. Congratulations." Tony said, volume growing by the syllable.

"You're angry with me." Sherlock noted.

"No! Of course I'm not! I mean, having my life ripped open for my friends to gawk at isn't anything to be upset about, is it? As you said, I asked for it."

"Tony!" John shouted, grabbing him by the wrist. "It's okay!"

"Oh, yes, everything's real fucking okay!" Tony shouted back, wrenching his arm from John's grasp. He made to push the boy out of his way, probably to storm out, but before he could get four steps, Rory was in front of him, taking him by the wrists and forcing him into his computer chair.

"Tony, we don't care about any of that crap. It's okay. Calm down." Rory said.

"I AM TOTALLY FUCKING CALM! I AM BUDDHA ON WEED!" Tony yelled, kicking out at Rory, who slapped him across the face in response.

"I said calm down, you twit." Rory snapped. "John, maybe you should take Sherlock for a walk while I keep Mr 'Buddha on Weed' and Bruce here to calm down."

"I'm not angry." Bruce replied curtly.

"Bruce, you were so pissed off that your glasses broke in your hand and you didn't even notice."

Bruce looked down and saw that he had, indeed, broken his glasses, cutting his palm in the process. "Oh. Shit, those were my last pair." He murmured.

"Sherlock, come with me." John said quietly, half-dragging the curly-haired boy from the room.

"Let me go." Sherlock hissed.

"We're going for a walk. A long one." John responded bluntly, ignoring Sherlock's protests.

"Why?" Sherlock demanded.

"You were out of line, Sherlock."

"I did what he asked. Is that not polite?"

John stopped, letting go of Sherlock's shoulder and watching as he stumbled slightly. "That? That was not polite, Sherlock! You could have just talked about Jarvis or something and he would have believed you. What you did just then was cruel."

Sherlock let out a snort of derision. "Please, John, they were facts. It was the truth."

"And the truth hurts, Sherlock. That's why people prefer lies."

"So I should have lied?" Sherlock said coldly.

"You should have been gentler. If that's the way you act around everyone then it's no wonder you haven't got any friends!"

"Hmph. I don't need friends. Thank you for wasting my time." Sherlock replied, turning on his heel and beginning to march away.

"Wait, Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." John said, grabbing his elbow and turning him back around. "Please, just… don't go. Please."

"Fine."

"C'mon, let's walk to the lake." John offered, gesturing for Sherlock to follow him. Sherlock would have argued, but at that moment a fluttering piece of yellow tape in the distance caught his eye. He smirked. Of course, they must have finished up with the scene and released it. Hmm. "Perhaps, instead, we could go up there." He suggested, pointing in the general direction of the crime scene.

"Uh, okay, sure. I mean, there isn't much out there, but it'll give you a good glimpse of the forest and the village." John shrugged.

Sherlock barely left him time to finish the sentence before striding off, leaving John to chase after him. In minutes he was surveying the ground, though it was little use seeing as those lumbering oafs they call policemen had stomped all over the ground. There was, however, still a very visible bloodstain and he hastened to it eagerly.

"Ah, this explains why you wanted to go this way." John muttered, coming up the small slope and eying Sherlock. "You really like murder, don't you?"

"I like interesting murders. Serial killers especially."

"You think this guy was a serial killer?" John asked.

"Hmm, that's a good thought, John. Whoever this was obviously had no problem with blood, as evidenced by the spatter and this stain. Perhaps, when we go back to the dorms, I should look up whether there have been any other murders like this. Oh I hope it's a serial killer." Sherlock whispered excitedly, straightening up and moving towards a lone tree. "John, come here. I need a second opinion on these markings."

"I somehow doubt that." John said, but moved to his side anyway, peering at the bark of the tree.

"What does this look like to you?" Sherlock queried, pointing to two deep scars in the wood.

"Ah, an axe maybe? Or a sharp knife?" John guessed.

"Yes, it does seem likely, doesn't it?" Sherlock nodded. "But one mark is shallower than the other. How would you explain that?"

John frowned, glancing back to the bloodstains. He took a few steps back, standing beside the worst of the spatter. Experimentally, he stretched his arm out as if he were holding a knife. "Hmm, it couldn't have been the knife accidentally flying out of his hand?"

"Not if it happened twice." Sherlock agreed. "So, why the marks on the tree?"

John paced around the area for a moment more, before stooping down and inspecting the ground. He glanced back to the tree, biting his lip. "What if… what if the killer had two weapons? And he used one to take Sally down. Knock her unconscious, or kill her straight off. But he wanted to use the second weapon for something else. Couldn't have the first weapon too close, or the blood would have made an impression of it. So, to keep it out of the way, he, you know, tries to whack the tree with it so it'll stay, but it wasn't deep enough, so he had to do it again." John looked up to find Sherlock watching him with a smirk. "That's completely wrong, isn't it?"

"No. It's not wrong. Very good. But why would the murderer need a second weapon?"

"I don't know. Was she missing a finger? Maybe someone hired a hit on her and wanted proof."

"Someone hired a hit man for a sixteen year old girl?" Sherlock quirked his eyebrow at John. "Why?"

John shrugged. "She saw something? She was annoying them? I don't know. Maybe the killer just wanted a souvenir."

"Which circles back to serial killer." Sherlock said.

"Ahem." Someone coughed. "What are you two up to?"

John whipped around, looking slightly guilty. Sherlock simply flicked his eyes towards the speaker, a mask of boredom settling over his features.

"Oh, it's you, Doctor." John sighed in relief.

"Yes, just me." The Doctor said cheerfully, striding forward. "Now, what are you up to?"

"We're just… Um." John paused, unable to think of a worthy and reasonable excuse. "Uh… I- I don't… Sherlock?"

"We're investigating." Sherlock replied, hands behind his back. He took a few steps forward, bringing himself level with John, staring at the Doctor. "Tell me, does the school know you're an alien?"

"An alien?" The Doctor laughed. "You think I'm an alien?"

"You're obviously not human." Sherlock replied.

"Ha, good one." The Doctor chuckled a bit more, slapping Sherlock's arm cheerfully. "Very funny, Mr Holmes. I assure you, I'm a very human-y… human. Ahem." He trailed off awkwardly.

"No. You're not."

"Sherlock!" John hissed. "Would you please not, you know, accuse my teacher of being ET."

"But he is, John. Can't you see- Oh, right, you aren't as observational as I am. My apologies." Sherlock sighed. "Just look at his clothes, John. The smudge of oil on his fingers, that is most definitely not from earth. Even the gel in his hair is a dead giveaway."

The Doctor tensed, surveying Sherlock with a look he usually reserved for students who got a one hundred percent on the end of year exam. "Sherlock… you are a very unusual human being."

Sherlock smirked. "Thank you."

"I didn't necessarily mean it as a compliment."

John looked from one to the other, lost for words. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and turned away, heading towards the forest.

"John?" Sherlock called. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, but I'm not stopping 'til I find a shred of sanity." John replied over his shoulder.

In a few strides, Sherlock was at his side. "Why do you need to find sanity?"

"Because there's obviously none around here."

"Of course there is. I'm sane, aren't I?"

"Maybe not." John muttered.

"You think I'm insane?" Sherlock asked.

John stopped, turning to give Sherlock his 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me-I-don't-believe-this-shit' look, which he normally reserved for the crap Tony spewed. "You just implied the Doctor was an alien. An _alien_, Sherlock! How is that not crazy?"

"Because I'm not simply making a thoughtless accusation. I'm not jumping to conclusions. I have observed him, and that only left me with more questions. After various experiments, research, and a number of trips into my mind palace, I have concluded that there is only one explanation: the Doctor is an alien." Sherlock said in complete seriousness.

John physically struggled to contain his disbelief, rubbing a hand through his hair. Exhaling slowly, he cast around for something he could use to smack the sense back into the wannabe detective. Failing that, he decided to go for a less violent approach. "What, exactly, makes you think he's an alien? What proof do you have?"

"Enough for it to be convincing."

"Show me." John ordered.

Sherlock shrugged. "Fine." He paused for a moment, sending John a surprisingly warm look. "It's good that you're asking for evidence first, you know. Though from now on I would prefer it if you merely believed me on principle."

"Yeah, I doubt that's going to happen." John scoffed, following the younger boy back to his dormitories, neither aware of a pair of eyes watching suspiciously watching them from a dark corner.


	8. Well, This is Kind of Awkward

**A/N: So, here's another chapter. Enjoy it. And, I finally introduced Sam and Dean! (Cas'll show up later!). Sorry for any errors (I literally just finished it moments ago). If you see any, point them out to me!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock or the Avengers.**

**Chapter Eight:**

Tony pulled himself off his bed, not hastening to open the door despite the now rhythmic knocking. Rory and Bruce didn't even look up from where they were attempting to fix the latter's glasses. He wrenched it open. "What?"

"We need to show you something." John said immediately, walking in and setting down the box he had been carrying.

"We?" Tony glanced at Sherlock, he seemed to be waiting for Tony to take a swing at him. "Fine. It'd better be good."

"It is." John assured him. "C'mon, it'll blow your mind. Sherlock, why don't y-"

"I think you should tell them. I'm getting tired of repeating myself." Sherlock said, stepping inside the room and moving back to the space between the desk and the bookshelf.

"Er, okay. Look, guys, come here." John urged.

"Don't make me read anything." Bruce warned. "I'm kind of short-sighted at the moment."

"Don't worry, Bruce, I'll read it out loud." John said, pulling out a book and turning to the dog-eared page. "Here, look." He pointed to a large, grainy black and white picture, which seemed to have been taken at a distance through a window. "Doesn't he look familiar?"

"Is that the Doctor?" Rory said, leaning closer. "With… President Nixon?"

"Yeah! And it says here 'A few weeks before his sudden and unexplained death, former Secret Service Agent David Jones told me the story of a man who literally appeared out of thin air, in President Nixon's office, saying he was a part of a secret British organisation. He referred to himself as the Doctor and his companions as the Nose, the Legs and Mrs Robinson. After learning of the mysterious child who was constantly phoning President Nixon asking for help, the Doctor agreed to help search for her…'." John stopped, looking up at them excitedly. "This happened in the sixties, but the Doctor isn't a day over thirty, and he hasn't changed a bit!"

"Hey, check out the people with him." Tony said, squinting at the other faces. "That chick looks kind of familiar."

"And that guy kinda looks like my brother, Joseph." Rory added.

"Actually…" Bruce said, taking the book from the three of them and holding it at a distance. "Rory, he looks kind of… like you."

"What?"

"Yeah, like a few years older, maybe." Tony added. "Oh, shit! That chick looks like Amy Pond!"

"What? No way, it is!" Rory exclaimed. "Wow, she looks amazing- I mean, um, for a- an older lady, I suppose."

"Wait, wait." Tony held up his hands. "How did an _older_ Amy and Rory end up in the _sixties_, nearly thirty years before they were even born, with the Doctor and some mystery lady?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock piped up, sounding annoyingly smug. "He's a time traveller."

Tony turned, glaring at Sherlock. "Time travel is impossible." He replied flatly.

"Then explain the picture." Sherlock challenged.

For a minute, it looked as though Tony might actually explode. He screwed up his eyes, lips twitching violently. "Fine! I can't explain it. But that doesn't mean time travel is real!"

Sherlock just smiled arrogantly at him. "We could go confront the Doctor." John suggested. "If we're lucky he might explain it all."

"He might not even know about the picture yet." Bruce replied.

"Nope, I've made up my mind. Let's go see the Doc." Tony declared, walking out. "Come on, or else I'll never shut that kid up about time travel."

John traded bemused looks with Bruce and Rory, before running after his dark-haired friend. The others were soon close behind them, even Sherlock. As they drew closer to the Doctor's office, they heard muffled moans and whispers. John dragged Tony back, and then crept ahead, close to the wall, pulling out a pocketknife he really shouldn't have. The door to the Doctor's office was ajar, and John could hear bits and pieces of muddled conversation.

"…innocent?"

"…crazy…obviously a d…"

"How…kill him?"

"…salt down his throat."

Gathering his courage, John leapt forwards, pushing the door open with a clatter. The Doctor looked up in alarm and relief, despite the duct tape over his mouth and sealing him to the chair. The two figures turned slowly, one clutching a gun tightly in his hands, and faced John with identical expressions of grim displeasure.

John cleared his throat in surprise. "Dean, Sam… Um, why- why are you torturing the Doctor?"

"Walk away, Watson. This doesn't involve you." Dean ordered.

"Well, you see, it kinda does. I mean, I need him to grade my history homework and give me that 'A' I worked my ass off for." John replied, holding his pocketknife tightly.

Dean smirked. "Look, Watson, you've been a good friend and everything, so I'm going to be honest. This _thing_ isn't the Doctor. John Smith is probably long gone. I mean, haven't you ever wondered why, since this school has been founded, there has been a History professor named John Smith? Why he's always insisted on being called the Doctor? Doesn't that seem a little weird to you?"

"It does." John admitted. "But he isn't… a monster, I don't think. He's a time traveller; an alien from another world."

Sam and Dean let out a derisive chuckle. Dean raised his eyebrows at John, glancing at the others who had crowded into the doorway. "Aliens? Really, Watson?"

"He's a demon." Sam said. "And we need to get rid of him."

"He isn't a demon." Sherlock laughed, stepping into the room. "After all, I should know."

John gasped as Sherlock's eyes blacked over. Sam and Dean both tensed, Sam drawing a knife and holding it out in front of him. The Doctor stilled. Dean advanced, fuming. "You've got five seconds to explain before I gank your ass back to hell."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, back to their regular bluey-greeny assortment. "Would you please not? I'd rather continue existing, no matter how boring it is."

"Four, three-"

"You are annoying." Sherlock said, folding his arms across his chest. "If you must know, I am not possessing anyone. I was invited in."

Dean and Sam traded disbelieving looks. "Who the hell _invites_ a demon in?" Sam asked.

"Someone very desperate. When Sherlock, the real Sherlock, was younger he contracted a deadly disease. There was no cure, no way for him to survive. But Mycroft, his older brother, was desperate. He searched for a way to save his beloved little brother. One day he stumbled upon a spell, a very old spell, which could solve all his problems. And he performed it perfectly. What he didn't realise was that the spell wasn't meant to save mortals. It wasn't a healing spell. It was a binding spell. A dying human body would have its soul removed, hollowed out, and replaced with a demon. The demon would not be able to leave the human body. He would be bound to it until it withered and died. But for Mycroft, his brother's strange behaviour, sudden interest in death and the devil, were nothing of importance. And when his parents threw out the boy, Mycroft took care of him, took custody of him. Because he loved him." Sherlock paused, tilting his head to the side. "A very powerful emotion, isn't it? This love business? It starts with chemicals and signals in the brain, and then it just spreads throughout the body."

"So you're saying this brother of- of the body you're in, _let_ you in because he thought he was healing you- his brother?" Sam queried.

"I suppose so, yes. But the phrase 'let you in' makes it sound as if I wanted this in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned.

"Being bound to human flesh is not pleasant. Most demons that go through it are crippled for the rest of their life. And that is the few who survive the process. Quite a few of them go mad. I, however, am rather enjoying the experience, even if it can be painfully boring sometimes. I must admit, I did miss dreaming." Sherlock said idly, picking up something from the Doctor's desk and looking it over.

"You- you can dream?" Sam said.

"Yes. It's much more preferable to the nightmares I had become accustomed to."

Sam lowered his knife uncertainly, glancing to Dean. "What do we do?"

"He's a demon, Sammy. We kill him." Dean replied without taking his eyes off Sherlock.

"But Dean, what if he-"

"What if he's _good_? Do you not remember what happened with Ru-"

"You said you would never bring that up!"

"I did not! Now do what I say, Sammy!" Dean cocked the shotgun and pointed it square at Sherlock's face.

"No." John said stubbornly, standing in front of Sherlock.

"John, while I thank you for the sentiment, it is unnecessary for you to do that for me." Sherlock said, raising the item he had taken and pressing the button on its side. It emitted a shrill sound that had them all, bar Sherlock and the Doctor, covering their ears and wincing. Sherlock pointed it at the shotgun, which spluttered and fizzled. Lowering the device, he walked calmly to the Doctor's side and untied him.

Dean shook his gun in fury, turning on Sherlock. "You motherfucker! What did you do to my gun!"

"I've removed its capacity to fire." Sherlock said, pocketing the ropes.

The Doctor adjusted his clothes and straightened his bow tie. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed Dean and Sam with a serious look. "That was very rude, you know. You humans seem to have a thing for tying up, well, me."

"What the fuck just happened?" Tony demanded, storming into the room.

"I think you boys had best some inside. We need to talk." The Doctor said, beckoning them in and closing the door behind them.

"About what?" Rory queried.

"About what's happening in the school."


End file.
